Thursday, June 19, 2025

Weird Tales, Jan 1941: H Kuttner, D H Keller, R Bloch and R M Farley

Last year we read Henry Kuttner's first three Elak stories, "Thunder in the Dawn," "Spawn of Dagon" and "Beyond the Phoenix."  Today we will read Kuttner's fourth and final story of Elak of Atlantis, "Dragon Moon," which appears in the January 1941 issue of Weird Tales.  (Adrian Cole, whose Dream Lords trilogy I read in 2016 and tarbandu started last year, took up the saga of Elak in our own 21st century.)  We'll also tackle the stories in this ish by David H. Keller, Robert Bloch and Ralph M. Finley.  Hopefully these stories will he better than those we read last time we cracked open an issue of the magazine of the bizarre and unusual.  At least thid go round we have a cover with a muscleman, a monster and a damsel in distress.

(I considered reading Nelson S. Bond's story from this issue, but it is advertised as a joke story so I am abstaining--I know you don't want to hear me yet again groan about how little I appreciate joke stories.)

"Dragon Moon" by Henry Kuttner

"Dragon Moon" has ten chapters, and each is preceded by an epigraph.  Most of these are from poems by G. K. Chesterton, Rudyard Kipling, or William Rose Benet--or the Bible, but Kuttner does quote his own 1936 poem "The Sunken Towers" before Chapter 6.  ("The Sunken Towers" appeared in the December 1936 issue of Donald Wollheim's zine The Phantagraph and was reprinted in 1967 in Operation Phantasy: The Best from The Phantagraph.  The poem is easy to find if you search around a bit.)  

Chapter 1 finds errant prince Elak and obese comic relief sidekick Lycon in a harborside tavern in southern Atlantis.  Elak gets into a fight over a wench and is about to be killed when the Druid from "Thunder in the Dawn" busts into the room and uses sorcery to save Elak's life.  In Chapter 2 the Druid delivers astonishing news--an alien entity known as Karkora is taking over the bodies of the monarchs of Atlantis!  When Elak's brother, Orander, king of the northern land of Cyrena, realized he was being possessed by a being from another universe, he killed himself!  The Druids want Elak to take the throne of Cyrena, but Elak refuses, thinking himself unfit!  

In Chapter 3, Elak has a dream in which he has a vision of Karkora the Pallid One and finds it so loathsome he decides to travel to Cyrena to seize control of the kingdom after all.  The Druid is nowhere to be found, so Elak and Lycon try to get passage on a ship, only to find it is captained by the guy Elak had that bar brawl with!  Elak and Lycon are chained at the oars among the galley slaves and help propel the ship northward with their own muscles.  In Chapter 4, Elak and Lycon lead a revolt of the galley slaves and take over the ship.  Kuttner includes lots of gruesome details in the fight that might appeal to gorehounds, but the sequence feels a little shoddy, with a metaphor used twice in as many pages and some confusion as to what is going on.  Chapter 4 would have benefited from some additional polishing and editing.

In Chapter 5 the Druid speaks to Elak in a dream--he must go to the red delta!  Whatever that is!  The next day is spotted a castle on an island in a delta; the sand here is red.  Ah!  Elak and Lycon bid farewell to the mutineers and disembark.  They meet a local potentate, Aynger, one of the last of a dispersed people, the Amenalk.  He tells Elak that within the castle lives a woman, Mayana, one of the few survivors of a pre-human race of sea people, a race of puissant wizards.  She was married to the human king of the nation just south of Cyrena, Kiriath, but left him when Karkora the Pallid One took over his body.  In Chapter 6, Elak, alone, ventures across a scary bridge, through a creepy tunnel, across a haunted underground lake, to the island under the island, where sits among a ruined city the temple under the castle, where he meets Mayana.  Mayana is incredibly tall and thin, and Hannes Bok provides an absorbing illustration of her kneeling before an idol of some kind of bird god. 

Chapter 7 is an expository chapter in which Mayana tells her own sad story and of the coming of Karkora the Pallid One.  You see, Mayana loved her human husband, king of Kiriath, and wanted to bear him a son, but as a nonhuman was unable.  A wizard in her husband's court offered to aid her with his sorcery, and she took him up on the offer, but the child she bore thereby was a stillborn misshapen mutant.  The wizard offered to revive it, and Mayana again accepted the sorcerer's aid; the wizard brought the baby back to feeble life and took it under his tutelage.  Eventually it was revealed that the sorcerer had summoned from another universe a horrible immaterial being to inhabit the embryo in Mayana's womb!  Having brought the deformed baby back to some semblance of life, along with the powerful alien spirit dwelling within it, the wizard put the child into what amounts to a sensory deprivation tank, denying it its natural five senses in order to strengthen an alien sixth sense!  This malformed human inhabited by an extradimensional spirit is now Karkora, and it seeks to conquer this world and others with the array of astounding powers this sixth sense confers upon him!

Mayana knows a talisman that can destroy Karkora, the monster whose earthly form came from her own womb, even if its alien soul did not, and Elak convinces her to provide it to him--she agrees to do so at the right moment.  Mayana even enchants Elak's blade, and gifts him some of her own magical strength, so he will be able to succeed in battle against Karkora and the Pallid One's unwitting human servants.  Kuttner doesn't say that impossibly tall, creepily skinny, shockingly pale and disturbingly scaly Mayana of the sea-folk has sex with Elak in order to give him this strength, but it is sort of metaphorically or euphemistically implied. 

"Stay with me for a moon--drinking the sea-power and Poseidon’s magic.”

“A moon—”

"Time will not exist. You will sleep, and while you sleep strength will pour into you."

(There's a lot of bestiality in the world of Lovecraftian and Lovecraftian-adjacent fiction.)

All the business with Mayana is good because it is about disturbing and heart-breaking human relationships and at the same time about the evil wizards, extradimensional aliens, lost races and lost cities, and undertone of perverse sex that we are looking for when we open up an issue of Weird Tales.

In Chapter 8, Elak makes his way to the capital of Cyrena and with the help of the Druid's magic wins the throne and raises an army.  In Chapter 9, Elak's army of Cyrena and Aynger's army of the reassembled Amenalk diaspora battle the army of Kiriath, led by Mayana's husband, who is controlled by her alien son.  Kuttner dwells on blood and wounds, on the writhing bodies of dying horses and men in the dirt and mud underfoot.  Elak kills the possessed king of Kiriath with the blade ensorcelled by the king's own wife, and then comes Chapter 10, the surreal psychic battle in a parallel dimension between Elak, supported by the Druid and Mayana, and the alien Karkora the Pallid One.  Stories by Kuttner and his wife C. L. Moore often feature these sorts of psychic battles as a climax (see Kuttner's "Where the World Is Quiet," and "The Time Axis," Moore's "The Tree of Life" and "Black God's Shadow," the Moore/Kuttner collab "Quest for the Starstone," and numerous others I am too lazy to link to.)  Uniting the two themes that make "Dragon Moon" noteworthy, the Mayana tragedy and the gore Kuttner fills the story with, our surprise ending is that the talisman Mayana gives to Elak at the moment he requires it is her own beating heart!  The heart, oozing blood, cast upon the hidden body of her son, makes the body disappear and sends the alien entity inhabiting it packing, saving the Earth.

While not as good as one of the better Conan, Elric, or Fafhrd and Grey Mouser stories, "Dragon Moon" is a solid sword and sorcery caper, maybe the best Elak story, thanks primarily to the Mayana material, though Kuttner's use of the Aynger character, which I have not gone into in this already too long blog post, is also interesting.     

"Dragon Moon" has been reprinted in various Elak collections and, among other anthologies, L. Sprague de Camp's The Fantastic Swordsmen, an abridged version of which was published by our Teutonic pals as Science Fiction Stories 20 and then in full as Drachenmond.


"The Goddess of Zion" by David H. Keller

Let's see, in the history of MPorcius Fiction Log we've read eleven stories by Keller.  OMG it is links time.

"Valley of Bones"

Today with "The Goddess of Zion" we make it a round dozen!  Maybe this is a good one--Jacques Sadoul and Messrs. Greenberg, McSherry and Waugh thought it worthy of reprinting in anthologies, and it also appears in the first volume of the David H. Keller Memorial Library.

This is a pretty good one, actually, well-written and exhibiting a higher tone than much of the sex and violence exploitation stuff we often read, but the sex and violence are still there!  "The Goddess of Zion" also offers plenty for intellectual types interested in issues of race and gender to chew on.

Out narrator relates to us the uncanny experience he had while visiting Zion National Park back in 1938.  At a far corner of the park, where there are no other tourists, he comes upon a sort of white mountain, shaped a little like a throne, with a hole in its crest through which he could see the sky.  Then another man appears, a handsome blue-eyed blonde.  Blonde invites the narrator to accompany him in a hike up the white mountain.  The mountain looks unscalable, but Blue-Eyes knows a path.  Along the way they discover sophisticated wall paintings featuring a mammoth and a beautiful blonde woman.

At the summit Blonde tells his crazy story.  His soul is that of a Viking ancestor who explored America centuries ago--his soul has shifted from father to son over many generations.  He forgets many intervening events, but recalls perfectly his adventure here on the mountain.

He was the last survivor of his Viking band, which had marched far across the continent, fighting Indians and facing other hardships for years.  He was taken prisoner by a race of brown pygmies who lived around and on this white mountain.  These pygmies regularly captured Indians and sacrificed them to their gods--a wooly mammoth who lived with them on top of the mountain and a gorgeous blonde woman with blue eyes who was their queen.  The mammoth would lift the Indians in its trunk one at a time and hurl them down through that hole in the mountain.  When the blonde queen showed signs of losing her looks with age, a new blonde queen, a teenager, would then appear and the older queen would be thrown down the hole to her death.

The current queen and the Viking became lovers.  The mammoth was somehow affected by their love, and, when the new queen arrived because the current queen got sick, the mammoth flipped the script by throwing the teenager down the hole, casting pygmy society into disarray.  The queen, near death from her illness, told the Viking that after she died he would live for many centuries but eventually return here to follow her so they could be together forever.  Then at her request the Viking threw the queen down through the hole.  

The day after hearing this story, the narrator descends the mountain, leaving the reincarnated Viking on the mountain top; that night he watches from below as the man jumps down through the hole so he can rejoin his beloved.

I like it.


"House of the Hatchet" by Robert Bloch
 
Here we have one of Bloch's Hollywood writer stories that references the fact that California is full of freaks and conmen, but, unlike the totally lame "Wine of the Sabbat" that I told you sucks earlier this month, "House of the Hatchet" is a good one with real human feeling and real human personalities.  Our third good story in a row today, and our third story with a strange sexual relationship at its core.

(This story also has a good Hannes Bok illustration.  This is shaping up to be a superior issue of Weird Tales.

Our narrator has been married for three years to Daisy, a pretty girl who has a sadistic streak and loves reading horror and murder stories, following the crime news in the paper, and watching detective and monster movies.  (Bloch's work is full of evidence that he suspected the line of work he himself was in was somehow bad for individuals and/or society, or reflected deficiencies in its fans or society at large.)  Their marriage is rocky; the narrator has a crush on another woman and Daisy has detected it, and for quite a while now the narrator's expenses have been exceeding the proceeds he gets from selling scripts, leading Daisy to moan about their finances.  

On their third anniversary they drive up to the region where they spent their honeymoon after eloping.  On the way they come upon a tourist attraction that advertises itself as a haunted house.  Daisy loves this kind of thing and so they go in.  The owner, a guy like W. C. Fields (this story has quite a few Hollywood references), describes how a Russian emigre, a failed film director, owned the house and murdered his wife before disappearing, and how since then hoboes and burglars who have invaded the house have been found killed in the same way the director's wife was killed--with a hatchet on a Satanic altar--and how people have seen the wife's ghost. 

The writer and Daisy are shown to the room in which the murders took place, which is complete with hatchet and altar.  The room has a powerful effect on both the narrator and on his wife.  Will one of them kill the other, possessed by the ghost or perhaps with the alleged ghost merely providing an excuse?

Bloch does a good job imagining the thoughts of both a murderer and his victim, and the twist ending isn't bad--the narrator murders his wife and then the ghost of his wife starts killing people, blossoming into reality the bogus story cooked up by the owner of the macabre tourist trap.  One of Bloch's better efforts, he keeping the jokes and the Kal-if-OR-NIGH-AYYY local color to a manageable level and delivering a powerful dose of "look into the mind of a killer" and "explore the psychology of a vengeful ghost" material.  Thumbs up!  

Among the numerous Bloch collections in which "House of the Hatchet" has been reprinted are two different British collections for which it serves as title story and a French volume with a cool mummy cover. 


"Test Tube Twin" by Ralph Milne Farley  

Last year we read six stories by Farley, a soldier, lawyer, politician and writer who is said by some to have sometimes collaborated with his daughter.  Of the six stories, I liked "House of Ecstasy," "Liquid Life," and "Horror's Head," and thought "Time for Sale," "Mystery of the Missing Magnate" and "Stratosphere Menace" were OK.  As things go here at MPorcius Fiction Log, that is a pretty good record!  Hopefully Farley's run of luck here at MPFL will continue today as we read "Test Tube Twin," which it seems has never been reprinted.  (Uh oh.)

Happily, "Test Tube Twin" is a diverting crime/science fiction story about a ruthless murderous gangster who tries to use cloning techniques to get revenge on people and escape justice.  Public Enemy Number One is our main character, and Farley succeeds in making him sort of interesting, and pretty evil, equally willing to kill with his own hand those who have been loyal to him and those who have betrayed him, providing the reader plenty of shocking thrills.

To be brief, the mobster through bribes and threats gets a scientist to develop a means of cloning a person by taking samples of his tissue and growing a genetically identical twin of him in a test tube.  He also has the egghead come up with techniques to make the clone grow at a super fast rate--it will appear to be 30 years old when it is only six or seven months old.  When a clone of the mobster has been produced that looks just like him, as if it is his age (though its mind is that of a child), the gangster murders the clone.  Now the police will think he is dead and stop looking for him.  He plants the gun on a rival gangster so that guy will be tried for murder.  Then, to cover his tracks, he tries to kill a woman who loves him (a trained nurse, she worked with the scientist in raising the clone), his most loyal associate (a dim-witted thug), and the scientist.  Who will live?  Who will die?  Who will end up in prison?  Will the scientist prove to have an ace in the hole that will preserve his highly educated hide and dump the gangster in the clink for his various murders?

An entertaining crime story.  

**********

Four good stories?  Amazing!  Bravo to all involved, McIlwraith, Kuttner, Keller, Bloch, and Farley, and let's not forget Bok who has multiple fine illustrations in the issue.  Weird Tales lives up to its reputation today and gets 1941 off to a good start.

Weird Tales Project: 1940

Originally, MPorcius Fiction Log's Weird Tales Project aimed to read one story from each issue of Weird Tales with a 1930s cover date.  But with that mission accomplished, why not continue the project into the 1940s?  So here we have proof I have blogged about at least one story from each of the six issues of Weird Tales published in 1940, the year the magazine changed to a bimonthly schedule and in which the role of editor passed from Farnsworth Wright to Dorothy Stevens McIlwraith.

(And first, links to records of my bloggings about the 1930s issues of the Unique Magazine.)

1930      1931     1932     1933      1934      1935      1936      1937      1938      1939 


January

Otis Adelbert Kline & E. Hoffman Price: "Spotted Satan"
Mary Elizabeth Counselman: "Twister"
Frances Garfield: "Forbidden Cupboard"




March

Manly Wade Wellman: "The Song of the Slaves"
Malcolm Jameson: "Train for Flushing"
Thorp McClusky: "Slaves of the Grey Mold"
August Derleth: "Bramwell's Guardian"



May

Edmond Hamilton: "City from the Sea"
Robert Bloch: "Ghost-Writer"
E. Hoffmann Price: "Khosru's Garden"
Fritz Leiber: "Automatic Pistol"




July

Robert Bloch: "The Fiddler's Fee"
Manly Wade Wellman: "The Dreadful Rabbits"
Maria Moravsky: "Beyond the Frame"




September

Edmond Hamilton: "Sea Born"







November

H. P. Lovecraft and Zealia Bishop: "The Mound" 
Robert Bloch: "Wine of the Sabbat"
August Derleth: "The Sandwin Compact"
Dorothy Quick: "Turn Over"

Monday, June 16, 2025

Weird Tales, Nov 1940: R Bloch, A Derleth and D Quick

Today we are on the final leg of our quest to read at least one story from every 1940 issue of the classic fantasy magazine Weird Tales, fabled in story and song for its role in the careers of H. P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, Clark Ashton Smith, Robert Bloch, Ray Bradbury, and others.  On this day our subject is the November issue, the last of the year.  We've actually already read a good story from that issue, H. P. Lovecraft and Zealia Bishop's "The Mound," a story I likened to "At the Mountains of Madness" and "The Shadow Out of Time," it being a science fiction horror story that integrated within its text Lovecraft's late in life technocratic ideas.

When I read "The Mound" in 2017 I didn't actually read the version of the tale printed in Weird Tales, but a more complete version that hadn't been edited by August Derleth and WT editor D. McIlwraith.  But today when we read stories by Robert Bloch, Derleth, and Dorothy Quick we'll read a scan of the actual magazine, grappling with the same texts enjoyed (or endured?) by the weirdies of 85 years ago.

Looking over this issue, we see it has a pretty tame cover--did McIlwraith put an end to the sexy covers so common under the reign of her predecessor Farnsworth Wright?  (If you want to hear me gab about exciting WT covers bubbling over with monsters and women who are either dangerous or in danger, check out my recent post on my favorite 1930s WT covers.) Fortunately, inside we find some striking renderings by Hannes Bok of some disturbingly twisted and some eerily beautiful semi-human beings.  The letters column includes a notice of the death of Wright, and an obituary full of praise for the man from perennial WT contributor Seabury Quinn.  And there are the usual ads for products and services that promise to improve your health ("Do You Want to Stop Tobacco?"; "Need Relief from Agony of Stomach Ulcers") or advance your career ("Make More Money Taking Orders for the Nimrod Line"; "Become an Expert Bookkeeper".)  I have to admit, these reminders of pain, death and poverty in the pages of WT are more upsetting to me than the fiction the magazine regularly dishes out about vampires, witches and lost cities full of aliens--being a salesman or a bookkeeper who suffers ulcers and is addicted to nicotine sounds pretty horrible.


"Wine of the Sabbat" by Robert Bloch

Here we have a story narrated by a struggling novelist living in Los Angeles, a man who habitually hangs out at the house of a wealthy woman with a crowd of all the California types we see in fiction, the Hollywood writers and actors and the mystics and so forth.  The story takes place in 1940 and is full of references to classic and contemporary writers, Poe, Thorne Smith, Ben Hecht, etc.  The many uninteresting characters all make smart alecky comments all the time.  To me, "Wine of the Sabbat" feels mind-numbingly long and slow, but maybe fans or students of old Hollywood would find it more compelling.

On Walpurgis Night, the rich woman brings to the regular get-togethers at her house a guy who looks like the devil and a huge Haitian guy and we witness the reactions of the novelist and all the other LA character types to these sinister weirdos.  Everyone assembles for dinner and the new attendees, presumably a Satanist and a voodoo priest, provide wine they say is from Europe.  The narrator is canny enough not to drink his share, but to pour it out onto the carpet under the table.  With many metaphors and references to literature and much repetition Bloch describes how the wine turns the Hollywood people into beasts--dogs and cats, pigs and rats and so on; the rich woman has been cultivating the acquaintance of all these celebrities and creatives for three years so tonight she and her coreligionists could hold a Black Mass and sacrifice these Angelenos, or something.  The narrator foils the event, starting a fire that burns down the house, but is himself temporarily turned into a wolf when he accidentally drinks some of the wine.

"Wine of the Sabbat" is tedious, and so boring I had trouble paying attention to what is going on.  Bloch uses lots of words, but fails to paint vivid pictures or delineate clear personalities or relationships, rendering the story hard to follow.  Everybody in the story is a sort of drunken libertine who lives in a haze or an intentionally obscure sneak who seeks to deceive, so maybe the vagueness of the story is intentional, but I don't like it.  Thumbs down!

I suspect Bloch and publishers recognize that this is one of the Psycho scribe's lesser works, and isfdb only lists it being reprinted in a single anthology (a German one) and a sole Bloch collection, 1998's Flowers from the Moon and Other Lunacies, which reappeared in 2000 in Italian. 


"The Sandwin Compact" by August Derleth

"The Sandwin Compact" has been reprinted numerous times, including in the many editions of the Derleth collection The Mask of Cthulhu and in one of those Italian Lovecraftian anthologies that has a Boris Vallejo bestiality-themed cover illustration.  (isfdb lists 38 volumes in the 1985-1991 series I Miti Di Cthulhu and 20 of them have Boris covers, and most of the those I have looked at depict or imply sex between a human woman and some kind of monster.)      

"The Sandwin Compact," like a lot of Derleth's "Cthulhu Mythos" stories, controversially imbeds Lovecraftian alien deities within a framework of a universal struggle of good versus evil and the ancient concept of the four elements, with Cthulhu representing water and Yog-Sothoth representing Earth, for example.  If you believe that what makes Lovecraft's work unique and appealing is HPL's apparent argument that the universe is meaningless and inexplicable, then you of course might find Derleth's facile moralism and effort to taxonomize the alien monster gods to be a superfluous distraction or even a castration that robs the Lovecraftian sub-genre of all of its power and value.

Our narrator is a librarian at Miskatonic U in Arkham, and is familiar with The Necronomicon and what happened at Innsmouth and all that.  As a child he spent a lot of time with his cousin at the seaside house of his uncle, his cousin's father.  Unc was always an odd character, a man squat and frog-like who had access to plenty of money but had no visible source of income.

At the start of "The Sandwin Compact" the narrator receives an urgent but cryptic phone call from his cousin, and the narrator rushes to the old house to see what is up.  While there at the house he figures out, by Unc basically telling him, that he (Unc) and his ancestors got rich by making a deal with the evil deities Cthulhu, Ithaqua, etc., promising to them the service of their sons after their deaths.  Unc's father and grandfather are, apparently, now undead automatons doing the bidding of the evil alien gods in remote parts of the world.  Derleth here has produced a sort of deal-with-the-devil story, a story with a Christian framework, in which the forces of evil tempt mankind and humans have the free will to submit to them--selling their souls and betraying their kin--or to stand up to them, sacrificing themselves to preserve those for whom they have responsibility.  These are not bad themes for a story, but they assume human beings have agency and put the human race at the center of the universe, a contrast to a lot of Lovecraft's original work, in which it is suggested the aliens have a relationship with humanity akin to that of humans to insects or cattle, that we humans are impotent and have no way to resist the aliens and very little to offer them.  

Unc has refused to continue the deal--the narrator's cousin will not become an undead servant and Unc will soon be punished by Lloiger, like Ithaqua a "wind elemental" whom Derleth himself contributed to the Mythos.  During the story, alien agents come to negotiate with Unc, and while the narrator and his cousin don't actually see these aliens, they hear their voices and footsteps and witness other evidence of their visits, like wet footprints and wind within the house when there is no wind outside.  The story's tension is undermined by the fact that the aliens come by again and again and nothing is ever concluded, and that weeks go by between cousin's phone call and the story's climax, with the narrator leaving the house to return to Miskatonic U to read up on Cthulhu and co and then coming back to find Unc looking even more like a frog.  The climax takes place behind a door which the narrator and his cousin cannot open until long after Unc has been carried off by Lloiger.  This is one of those stories in which the man we see as the protagonist, the narrator, makes no decisions and has no effect on the plot but is merely a spectator.

Reducing Cthulhu and other alien monster gods from incomprehensible divinity to the status of organized crime figures who cut deals with legitimate businessmen and then send their muscle over in an effort to pressure the guy paying protection money from welching is probably Derleth's worst sin here in "The Sandwin Compact" but there is also the fact that Derleth overdoes everything in this story.  I've already suggested the story is too long and that adding the concept of the four elements is superfluous.  Another example is how he doubles up the terrible things that happen to Unc--he becomes a frog man and he is carried away by winds; having two horrible things happen to a guy doesn't make a story twice as horrifying, instead it dilutes the story, makes it less powerful.  And then we have to wonder why there is a narrator outside the immediate family--the librarian character adds nothing to the story other than giving Derleth a chance to namecheck Miskatonic U and Arkham and The Necronomicon.  The story would be improved if the if the nephew was eliminated and the son was the narrator--his father's sacrifice would be all the more powerful, and the horror of seeing his father turn into a frog and die in an eerie way all the more shocking.

The more I think about "The Sandwin Compact" the worse it seems; when I had first finished reading it I planned to say "The Sandwin Compact" was merely acceptable but writing about it has convinced me that I gotta give it a thumbs down.  Sorry, August.


"Turn Over" by Dorothy Quick

In 2023 we read Quick's Weird Tales cover story about an Irish-American in a love triangle, "The Witch's Mark," and judged it acceptable.  I told you then that "The Witch's Mark" had never been reprinted, but today I see that a Quick collection was put out in 2024, a volume edited by the indefatigable literary scholar S. T. Joshi and titled The Witch's Mark and Others.  Today's Quick tale, "Turn Over," also appears in that book. 

"Turn Over" is a tiresome joke story with a plot like a ridiculous comedy movie, maybe with Jerry Lewis or something.  A rich old man has a family full of irresponsible people whose behavior does not meet his approval.  His granddaughter Celia is promiscuous, going on dates even though she is engaged to the son of Gramps' lawyer.  (Celia's betrothed is our narrator.)  One family member is a drunk.  One is a commie.  And so on; there are a lot of boring and forgettable family members.  Gramps dies and his lawyer reveals the absurd instructions of his will.  His many heirs will receive their inheritances in monthly installments.  Gramps is to be buried in a coffin equipped with an array of electronic devices.  Should Gramps turn over in his grave in reaction to the outrageous behavior of any of his beneficiaries, this event will be detected and reported in the lawyer's office via a bell, and the bad actor will lose this month's installment.

The bell rings again and again as Gramp's heirs misbehave again and again.  Celia, now the narrator's wife, goes out dancing with another man while our narrator is working late.  The drunk gets drunk.  One heir signs a business deal Gramps would not have approved of.  The commie donates to the CPUSA and then plots a bombing.  And so on.  Quick's story has no real climax or twist.  The family members decide to change their ways, and they do so, and the ringing stops, and they get the dough.

I'd like to endorse a story that offers the valuable advice that you should refrain from being a faithless slut, a self-destructive boozehound or a Bolshevist terrorist, but I cannot; "Turn Over" is absurdity and tedium--thumbs down!

**********     

Ouch, three bad stories.  Derleth's story has a clear narrative but is full of what I would consider poor artistic choices, while Bloch's and Quick's stories are so diffuse and so lacking in substance I had a hard time focusing my attention on them.  A definite rough patch in our journey through the pages of Weird Tales.  We have to hope McIlwraith will marshal a higher grade of material as we slither forward into 1941.

Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Strange Stories, Dec '39: A Derleth, M W Wellman and M Moravsky

We recently read our first story by Maria Moravsky, poet and refugee from the Russian Revolution.  Let's read a second Moravsky story, this one appearing in Strange Stories in 1939.  Beyond the totally insane bondage and woman-as-reptile illustration on the cover, this issue's attractions include a collaboration between Robert Bloch and Henry Kuttner which we read like six years ago, and stories by August Derleth and Manly Wade Wellman which we will read today before we continue our exploration of Moravsky's body of work in the weird category.

"A Gift for Uncle Herman" by August Derleth

Derleth mass-produced short stories to finance Arkham House, the ambitious but not exactly profitable publishing venture of which he was a founder and which he managed for decades, and some of them are pretty shoddy, so I go into the two stories by Derleth in this issue of Strange Stories with a healthy dose of skepticism.  However, "A Gift for Uncle Herman" was reprinted in two Derleth collections, 1941's Someone in the Dark and 2009's That is Not Dead, so how bad can it be?

I can say with relief that "A Gift for Uncle Herman" is well-written stylistically, and that the personality of the main character and the depictions of the lesser characters are all quite good.  Unfortunately, one of the central gimmicks is a little weak.  I like this one, but can only recommend it moderately.

The protagonist is a failed artist, a lazy selfish jerk.  He has a job managing the rental properties of his creepy uncle, a scary dude whom he hasn't seen in ages because he and his huge house, which is stuffed full of bizarre artifacts, are so repellant--the nephew conducts his business with his uncle through the mail.

Now in his forties, the jerk feels like he has never enjoyed life.  He decides to start embezzling from his uncle, easy enough as the jerk handles all the bookkeeping and never sees Unc the weirdo.  But after some months of "riotous living" the nephew gets a letter from his uncle, setting a date for the nephew to come to the queer house to discuss what Unc calls an "error" in the documents he has received from his nephew.  Presumably he has realized his nephew has stolen from him and wants to see him to upbraid him or fire him or whatever.  The jerk's hopes for the future rest entirely on his inheriting his uncle's estate, so if he gets written out of the will or whatever it will be a catastrophe.  So he murders his uncle from a distance via means that are wacky but sort of entertaining--the method of the murder is not the gimmick I am unhappy about.

The nephew buries his uncle and inherits the estate very quickly.  Going through Unc's big cluttered house, he finds many books about black magic.  One passage, he finds, is heavily underlined, and talks about how wizards always want to prolong their lives or shift their souls to other people's bodies, but the Devil isn't crazy about such behavior and will not support such legerdemain.  But there is one circumstance in which you can move your soul to another's body!  If you make an appointment with someone, and get killed in the interim, at the time of the appointed meeting you can move into the body of the other person.  Sure enough, Unc rises from the grave and takes over the murderous nephew's body the very moment they were scheduled to meet to discuss that "error!"

I like this story and wish Wellman had come up with a less ridiculous way that an evil devil-worshipping sorcerer could take over another guy's body, because everything else in "A Gift for Uncle Herman" is pretty good.  


"The Passing of Eric Holm" by August Derleth

The second Derleth story in the issue appears under a pseudonym, and has been reprinted in three different Derleth collections, so, maybe another winner?  Cross your fingers or tentacles, weird fans!

"The Passing of Eric Holm" is an acceptable twist ending story, a little on the silly jokey side, but having as its subject Lovecraftian topics, though overlayed with Derleth's Christian beliefs.

A guy, Eric Holm, has been savagely and mysteriously killed, and Derleth's story describes the investigation--the meat of the story consists of the testimony of a friend of the victim, Jeremy Lansing.  Holm was a man with no wife or kids whose hobby, like so many people we read about here at MPorcius Fiction Log, was studying the occult.  Holm liked to buy black magic books and try to work their spells; his pal Lansing was often involved in these experiments, which always failed.  Holm's final book purchase was a volume about a Christian monk who had learned how to summon and dispel the spawn of Cthulhu.  Holm had the wacky idea of testing out some of the spells in the book ("formula," Wellman calls them) by summoning a monster to murder Lansing--Lansing had no reason to fear, because Holm wrote out for him the formula to dispel the monster, should it appear and try to slay him.  Or so he believed!  In fact, Holm gave Lansing the spell that would send the monster back upon its summoner!  So the piscine or perhaps batrachian monster tore Holm into bite-sized pieces and ate its fill.

Acceptable filler; Derleth keeps the humor elements under control and the horror elements are not bad.


"For Love of a Witch" by Manly Wade Wellman

This is a good title, and the illustration accompanying it suggests Wellman's story is about a white sorceress who aids Europeans in the project of seizing the land of Native Americans in the good old  17th century.  If this chick had been to college she'd know she should make common cause with people of color in resisting the white patriarchy, but I guess white men, like 5% of the world population, have always been marvelously adept at using their tricknology to bamboozle the 95% into fighting each other instead of forming an intersectional coalition against their melanin-deficient Y-chromosome-infected oppressors.  But don't despair--when the Chinese Communist Party's AI has conquered the world I am sure the white man will get what is coming to him and life will be a paradise for that 95% who are today groaning through lives of oppression!

It is 1664 and an English community lives in a fort in North America.  This community does not embody our vision of America as the and of limited government and market economics--the leader of the settlement, Nele Foraker, whom Wellman directly compares to John Smith of Jamestown, controls every aspect of everybody's life!  Maybe this is justified because the colony is perennially on the brink of destruction from poor harvests or Indian attacks?  Maybe it doesn't sting too badly because Foraker isn't one of those aloof leaders who never gets his hands dirty, but is always out in front, working the corn fields more vigorously or fighting the natives more ferociously than anybody?  Whatever the case, if I was there I'd be spending every minute wondering why the hell I ever left the green and pleasant land.

As the story begins, the colony is enjoying a period of peace and prosperity, a decent harvest having come in and a treaty having been signed with the local natives.  Foraker takes a walk in the woods and comes upon a shocking scene--Indians about to chop off the head of a white woman he doesn't know!  He rescues her and drives off the Indians, who claim she is a witch.  Back at the fort she tells her crazy story of being the cursed granddaughter of a famous sorceress and of how she was recently accused of "having a familiar spirit," which is punishable by death in England.  So she fled Blighty for Dutch America, where they don't prosecute witches, only to find on arrival that the English had taken over the colony of New Amsterdam and witchcraft was back on the no-no list.  She fled New York for Foraker's fort.

Indians, intent on destroying the sorceress, attack the fort and we learn all the accusations against the woman are legit as she uses her special powers of detection and prediction and illusion projection to save the English settlement when a sneak attack and then a frontal assault both breach the English defenses.  There can be no doubt this woman is a witch!  But she claims she is unwillingly possessed by a spirit or something, and this is the first time she has ever intentionally used her powers--she used them because she is in love with Foraker!  

Realizing they can't outfight a sorceress, the Indians make peace, but then a new threat arises--it turns out that an English family living in the fort are worshippers of Satan and they have a plan to turn the New World into an entire empire devoted to Satan!  Foraker's girlfriend joins them in their weird ceremonies--is she doing so willingly,  or is the familiar that possesses her to blame yet again?  Captain Foraker attacks the ceremony, and in the fight the witch helps him, saving his life yet again.  The family of Satanists exterminated, Foraker and the witch are married.

The Forakers don't get to enjoy married life very long before a witch-finder with a squad of cavalry arrives from England to try Mrs. Foraker for witchcraft!  The fact that Mrs. Foraker has foresworn all use of her powers because she loves her husband doesn't cut any ice with this one-man judge, jury and executioner!  When the captain defends his wife, he stands himself accused of sorcery, and is laid down under a door piled with one hundred pounds of stones!  Luckily the Indians come and kill the witch- finder by surprise and liberate Foraker and the witch.  The loving couple abandon the fort to live alone together in the wilderness.

I suggest "For Love of a Witch" is barely acceptable filler.  The action scenes are perfunctory and the characters have no personality.  The story has no real central spine and doesn't build up to a climax, but is just a series of episodes, Wellman bouncing from one theme to another.  All the race and gender stuff may be interesting to 21st-century readers, but Wellman's messages or themes are muddled.  Are we expected to admire Foraker for being such a dedicated leader of his people, and then also admire him for abandoning his people for a woman?  To denounce witch hunting, even though Satan and witches are real?  To sympathize with the Indians, who spend the whole story trying to kill people who are not prepared to defend themselves?  Feminists may be thrilled to see the female lead killing a bunch of people, but I'm afraid this story doesn't pass the Borsht test, as our girl is killing people to protect her man.

"For Love of a Witch" was reprinted in the 2001 Wellman collection Fearful Rock, where it appears alongside that story we just read about killer bunnies.  

"The Soul of the Cello" by Maria Moravsky

Another story about supernatural phenomena linked to a string instrument?  (You'll recall we just read a story by Robert Bloch about a creep using a violin to work black magic on people.)  I guess this theme reflects the power music has over people.

"The Soul of the Cello" is a somewhat sappy happy-ending story with a plot like that of a feel-good children's book.  The way the plot resolves itself is a little hard to take--the protagonist succeeds without effort or sacrifice on his own part and his trespasses are not punished--but the story is pretty well-written, so I will call it marginally good.  (My criticisms of the plot of this story are similar to my gripes about the other Moravsky story we have read, you'll notice.)   

I should also note that I thought a cello was a huge thing as big as an adult person but in this story the protagonist tells us "I went to sleep without undressing, with the cello clasped in my arms," and "I laid the voiceless cello on the window ledge" and "one day Mother found it [the cello] hidden among my clothes" and stuff like that so I guess this thing is like the size of a violin.  Why not just make a story about a violin, then?  I must be missing something.

Our narrator is a Russian Jew, an immigrant to New York, the son of the owner of a used book store.  He tells us a story from his Manhattan youth.  A musical prodigy, as a kid he made money playing a crummy cheap cello.  One day a rich collector gave a free exhibition of his centuries-old cellos.  The narrator attended the event and fell in love with one of the cellos, made in Venice ages ago.  That night the kid steals the cello, and finds that it is alive, able to play itself!  At first the instrument resents being stolen, and its playing is like a cry for help.  But its cries are ignored, and eventually it accepts the narrator, who plays it when his parents are out--the thing sounds so great they would know he wasn't playing the lame cello they were able to provide him with the meagre proceeds from the bookstore.

Moravsky does a good job describing how the narrator obsessively loves the cello like an ordinary guy would love a woman, his guilt and fear over being a thief, and the reaction of his parents when they eventually learn that the theft they have been reading about in the newspapers was committed by their own son.  This sort of stuff, the stuff of our real lives, lust and guilt and fear and your parents being a pain in the ass, I can get behind.  It is the fairy tale goop that follows that dampens my enthusiasm for the story.  The ghost of the man who made the cello appears to the narrator and tells him to return the cello, and the cello plays itself and conjures up a magical vision of Venice as it was some hundreds of years ago.  The narrator returns to the rich guy's house with the cello--there is a big party there tonight.  The narrator plays the cello (actually, the cello sort of plays itself, or is played by the ghost of its maker or something) and the rich guy is so impressed he gives the cello to the thief and vows to promote his career as a world-famous musician.  The ghost knew this would happen and that is why it told the kid to return the instrument.

It doesn't look like this fantasy of being born gifted and then winning the support of ghosts and rich people by committing grand larceny has ever been reprinted.

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I have a load of criticisms of these stories, but none of these tales is bad, and two of them are well-written enough that I am willing to call them good, so I guess I am recommending this issue of Strange Stories to you, and not just for the wild and crazy cover art.

No doubt we'll be seeing Derleth, Wellman and Moravsky again in the future, likely soon as we continue exploring the weird and the strange of the early 1940s. 


Monday, June 9, 2025

Ten Best 1930s Weird Tales Covers

In our last episode I groused that the cover of the July 1940 Weird Tales was a candidate for most boring WT cover ever.  Of course, I haven't made a comprehensive review of all covers of the unique magazine of the bizarre and unusual, so maybe there are plenty more boring covers out there?  What I have done is read from every issue of Weird Tales from the 1930s, so I am familiar with those covers, which gave me the idea of producing a specimen of that internet staple, the tendentious unfalsifiable list!  (How many "Top Five King Crimson Albums" and "Ranking all the Epic Tracks of Yes" youtube videos have I listened to while mowing the lawn?)   So today, in chronological order because I am not going to break my brain ranking them against each other, we have my ten favorite 1930s Weird Tales covers.

September 1932 

Margaret Brundage


Margaret Brundage's paintings are often static and flat, and their compositions weak, but her illustration for the September 1932 issue cover lacks those shortcomings; the figures seem alive, physically and emotionally, and the image has no wasted space--too often Brundage compositions have lots of negative space because she tries to fit in the entire body of a woman, maybe to appeal to foot fetishists?  This closer up view of the figures, which leaves out their legs, is obviously superior, filling the space and allowing the faces to be larger and thus more easily convey emotion.  

November 1932

J. Allen St. John


Weird Tales covers usually lean more on the sex and horror side than the heroic adventure side, which is good for Brundage because her style and abilities are more suited to exciting lust and fear than depicting John Carter style capers.  J. Allen St. John, of course, is not only a more experienced and accomplished painter than Ms. Brundage, but an old hand at illustrating the Baroomian type of adventure, and here delivers a terrific muscleman in a thrilling dynamic pose along with well-rendered frothing waters and a crazy sea monster.  

December 1932

J. Allen St. John


This one is even better than its predecessor; the muscle man isn't quite as good, but the monster is better, the frog man's body and pose are splendid, and we have a beautiful woman in bondage.  The whole thing, particularly the hero's cape and the serpent's mouth, gives a feeling of motion.  I love it!

May 1933

J. Allen St. John


There's no monster or muscleman in this one, but the dynamism is there and the muscles of the camels are great, and the woman and her assailant are posed beautifully.  

October 1933 

Margaret Brundage


Likely the ultimate Weird Tales image, a distillation of what makes WT distinctive, the focus on sex and fear and sheer oddness--Brundage's somewhat amateurish anatomy and brushwork add to the oddness in a way the more expert technique and knowledge of St. Allen cannot.  I love the colors, the green contrasting strikingly with the red, and the beautiful typeface of the logo looks better directly over the artwork than it does in a red box as previously.  An immortal icon of genre literature.

November 1933

Margaret Brundage


Another Brundage winner, with most of the strengths of its predecessor.  The gay colors of the woman's hair and dress offer a shocking contrast with the macabre subject matter.  Brilliant.   

December 1933

Margaret Brundage


Our last two Margaret Brundage masterpieces depicted women who were weirdos and maybe villains whom we could certainly believe had chosen to embrace oddity and maybe villainy, and who might present a threat to the reader.  But here we have woman as victim; we don't fear her, we fear for her.  Sexy, but from a different angle.  I like the Yellow Peril figure, with its satanic Ming the Merciless visage and long fingers, and the colorful background astrological geegaw.     

January 1934

Margaret Brundage


A variation on the themes of the previous issue's cover, somewhat inferior but still exciting, and far more sexually explicit and exploitative.  Nasty, but in a way that is mesmerizing rather than repulsive.

November 1937

Margaret Brundage 


The themes and appeal of this one are similar to the last two, though the foreign devil's face is more realistic and actually kind of disturbing--we are inching into repellant territory here, and this picture makes me uneasy in ways the earlier ones did not.  That probably makes it a superior work of art, but I wouldn't hang this one in MPorcius HQ so I could see it every day the way I would all the other illustrations we are discussing today--while the other pictures are a lot of fantasy fun, the figures in this one conjure up unpleasant thoughts of a hypothetical but totally believable abusive relationship.

June 1938

Margaret Brundage


OK, we are back in bondage fantasy land, no tormentor being depicted and the woman wearing more clothes--I find this one hypnotic.

Honorable Mentions

If I was to rank these ten covers, May 1933 and November 1937 would be the bottom two, and they almost lost out to J. Allen St. John's October 1936 with its fine nude and terrific monster faces, Margaret Brundage's evocative S&M October 1937 cover, and/or her witchtastic January 1938 cover.


Best of the Year
 
My ten best covers are clustered in only five years, so let's look at each individual year of the 1930s and choose a best for each.

1930
I've criticized Brundage's abilities a bit, but she has a compelling style and conveys feeling; C. C. Senf and Hugh Rankin, who did all the 1930 issues between them, don't seem any better technically than Brundage and they lack style as well as Ms. Brundage's ability to inspire emotion in the viewer.  For 1930 we are going with the dinosaur cover from November by Senf, which edges out the August cover by Rankin which has a snake on it, though neither is actually good.


1931
Senf did all the 1931 covers except for one, the February-March issue, the cover of which is by C. Parker Betrie, Jr.  Betrie's is easily the best of the year, with effective use of shadow, a strong composition, and cool monsters from the mysterious East.

1932
December, St. John

1933
October, Brundage

1934
January, Brundage

1935
Brundage did all the 1935 covers and her sometimes weak grasp of anatomy and questionable compositions mar almost every one of these productions.  To my eye, all twelve of the illustrations achieve about the same level of mediocrity, though I think the June cover, suicidal Hollywood starlet accompanied by a devil face, edges out the November, which has a nude surrounded by snakes, for title of best of a forgettable lot.  The tight clothes are actually sexier than the nudity, and the idea of self-destruction more scary than the cobras.


1936
October, St. John

1937
November, Brundage

1938
June, Brundage

1939
The '39 covers are mostly busy or banal; eight are by Virgil Finlay, who, in my opinion, was a far better draftsman than a painter.  I think the bold December cover by Hannes Bok is marginally better than the boldest of the Finlay covers, the fiery August one.  


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This was a fun exercise, so maybe when I have read a story from each issue of Weird Tales with a 1940s cover date I'll produce a sequel.